Warrior Spirit

by Alex Archer

  It would be a shame to kill her, he decided.

  “Master.”

  He smiled. “Yes?”

  “I think we can scale the wall.”

  Nezuma pursed his lips. “Are you sure? We don’t have the gear necessary for that and the challenge of the water rushing over us.”

  “We’ve got enough rope. I can try it first and secure anchor points. You can climb up next.”

  Nezuma looked up. It was a long way to go. Any misstep would cost them their lives. The thought of departing this plane of existence without having recovered the dorje did not sit well with Nezuma. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “It’s the only way.”

  She was right. Nezuma could see no other way to access the caves above. They would have to climb.

  “All right, but go slowly. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  She smiled, looking like a beautiful mess as the water splashed down on her. “I’ll be fine.”

  Nezuma tried to move out of her way. He’d still have to stay under the freezing water while she climbed so he could try to spot her in case something bad happened. He knew honestly, though, that if she fell, there’d be little chance of his catching her or otherwise saving her life.

  Shuko must have known that, too. But the knowledge that she could die had never stopped her before, and Nezuma could see it wasn’t about to give her pause now.

  She slid her pack off and rummaged through the top pocket, drawing out a length of twisted nylon-and-hemp rope noted for its ability to withstand high weights and harsh conditions.

  Nezuma frowned. This certainly qualified as harsh.

  Shuko looped the rope around herself and then drew out a few anchors that she stowed on her belt. She looked at Nezuma.

  “I don’t know if I’ll find anyplace to put these. Hammering them in could potentially alert whoever might be there.”

  Nezuma nodded. “Understood. Just do the best you can to show me how to follow your lead.”

  “Your life is in my hands,” Shuko said smiling.

  Nezuma grinned. “Try not to let that power go to your head.”

  Shuko gave him a quick peck on the lips and then felt her way to the back of the waterfall again. Nezuma watched as she found two footholds and then looked up, reaching for places to put her hands or fingers.

  Nezuma had seen her climb enough times to know that if anyone was capable of scaling the back side of a waterfall, it was Shuko. Her name meant “claw,” after all.

  And if the universe willed it, they’d soon be in to those caves with the dorje at long last in sight.

  32

  Annja’s head throbbed much the same way her shoulder did—as if someone were using her to pound out a drumbeat over and over again. Her eyes popped open and she moaned as she tried to sit up but found she couldn’t.

  Ken was already awake and he smiled at her. She noticed that he was bound in strange ropes and started to say something about it when she finally realized they were both gagged.

  She glanced around the room. They were on a stone floor. The walls were plain except for torches embedded in the rock and a tapestry that hung nearby featuring hundreds of small but angry-looking deities.

  Annja followed Ken’s eyes as he pointed out that they were not alone. The room was filled with about a dozen monks dressed in dark-brown-and-blue kimono robes and split-skirt hakama that had been tied around their legs. They wore simple slippers, but what made them look ominous were the spears and swords they all carried.

  A pair of hands found Annja’s ropes, and the tightness disappeared, followed by a renewed sense of pain as the throbbing increased in her shoulder and head. The hands also cut away her gag, and Annja spit it out on the floor.

  She looked up and saw a face she thought she recognized. It was the strange monk who had fought the schoolgirl assassins in Osaka. But this time, he wasn’t smiling. His face looked severe and the baldness of his head did little to make him look jolly.

  He said a few words in Japanese to her, but Annja just shook her head. He noted and then cleared his throat. “I thought perhaps you might speak Japanese considering who you’re with and what you are looking for.”

  “Sorry, no,” she said.

  “No matter.”

  Annja glanced at Ken, who was still trussed up. She looked back at the monk. “What about my friend?”

  He smiled. “We have to be sure that he won’t try to kill us when we cut him free. We know that he is exceptionally skilled in martial arts.”

  Annja looked at Ken, who nodded once. “He’ll be fine,” Annja said.

  The monk nodded to one of the others, and the man knelt to cut Ken free. Annja halfway expected him to come out of the ropes fighting, but instead, he simply took out his gag and then continued to sit quietly.

  The older monk nodded, apparently satisfied that Ken wouldn’t try anything. “Are you both all right?”

  Ken looked at Annja. “Your shoulder can’t be feeling too good right now,” he said.

  Annja nodded. “Hurts like hell. So does my head.”

  “I apologize for the need to render you unconscious, but our success as a sect has depended largely on our ability to remain hidden from society. If my people were a bit rough in their handling of you, I apologize. I didn’t realize they hurt your shoulder, as well,” the monk said.

  “The shoulder was injured before your people took us,” Ken said. “But it has been bothering her. It’s the rotator cuff.”

  The monk nodded. “I will have an herbal remedy made that will dull the pain—both in your shoulder and in your head.” He looked at Ken. “Do you require the same?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “As I expected. How long have you trained in ninjitsu?”

  “Almost twenty years.”

  “So you are aware of how to control your pain and discomfort.”

  Ken shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve used the skill any number of times.”

  “Please get up and follow me. We have several things to discuss, and I wish for this to be concluded as soon as possible. Your presence here is jeopardizing my people.”

  Annja started to protest, but then remembered that she and Ken had been followed everywhere they’d gone. Trying to argue they hadn’t been would be foolish and grate on their new host’s nerves.

  They trailed behind him as he strode down the stone hallway. The flickering torches cast strange shadows. Here and there, they saw several doors carved into the rock of the walls. Where they led, Annja had no idea. “Where exactly are we?” she asked.

  The old monk looked back. “You don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “You’re in the mountain.”

  Annja stopped. “So, it was a series of caves I saw?”

  “Yes. We use them to circulate fresh air into the caverns up here. But it’s not a path I’d recommend using as a way in—the climb is far too dangerous for anyone to attempt.”

  They reached a room with a blazing hearth where thick planks of cedar had been turned into benches. A low table sat in the middle and the monk gestured for them to be seated at it.

  From another area, a monk came in carrying a tray with a tea service. He set it down before them and then withdrew.

  “My name,” the old monk said as he reached into his robe and produced a small packet of something dark and leafy, “is Eiji. I am what you would call the abbot here at this particular monastery.”

  “So there really is a monastery here in the mountains of Iga,” Annja said.

  Eiji broke the dry black leaves into one of the tea cups and then poured the steaming hot water over it. Annja watched as the water turned dark brown and a peculiar scent wafted into the air. Eiji passed the cup to her and bowed.

  “This will ease your pain,” he said gently.

  Annja took the cup and sniffed at it. It seemed too hot to drink, but she pursed her lips, blew across the surface and then sipped a bit of the tea. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bitter, but quit
e sweet.

  “It’s delicious,” Annja said. And as the warmth flowed down her throat, she could feel the deadening effects of it begin to work on her head and shoulder. “What do you call it?”

  Eiji shook his head. “The herb is far too dangerous to discuss in detail. Someone without the proper training attempting to use it would undoubtedly kill themselves or the people they made the tea for.”

  Annja raised her eyebrows. “This is poisonous?”

  “If given in the wrong dosage, absolutely.” Eiji smiled. “Most medicines are both a curative and a poison to some extent anyway, so please don’t be so shocked when I tell you that.”

  Annja took another sip. “Just so long as Ken here doesn’t have to haul my corpse back down the mountain.”

  Eiji nodded. “Which brings us to the question of your traveling partner here who has thus far said very little.” Eiji looked at Ken. “You have questions, no doubt.”

  “It’s here, isn’t it?” Ken asked.

  Eiji smiled. “I like your candor.” He sighed. “Over the years, we have found that those people who find their way to us are usually anything but honest. And when they attempt to recover the vajra, they inevitably fail. Simple honesty is always a good way to start out.”

  Ken bowed. “I have come a long way to find it.”

  “No doubt,” Eiji said. “But why do you want it?”

  “It belongs to my family.”

  Eiji looked at him. “Are you telling me that you are a member of the Yumegakure-ryu?”

  Ken bowed again. “I am the last member of the family. My name is Kennichi Ogawa.”

  Eiji perked up. “If that is true…”

  Ken stood and pulled off his shirt. He turned and in the firelight Annja saw the small tattoo over his left shoulder blade. It looked like some of the samurai family crests that she’d seen over the years.

  Eiji peered closer and then leaned back. “You have the correct mon for the family. But then again, any artist could re-create that.”

  Ken put his shirt back on and shook his head. “There are so few people who know about the crest, let alone where to position it, such a theory holds no water. I am the last male heir to my family name, marked at birth using bamboo needles to deliver the ink under my skin. The tattoo has been with me since I was born.”

  Eiji clapped his hands and another monk appeared. Eiji said a few things to him, and he nodded and then vanished.

  “Please sit down,” Eiji said. “I apologize for my rudeness. But surely you would admit that we have had our fair share of imposters over the years. I find it difficult sometimes to remember that there are truly honest people still left in the world.”

  Ken smiled. “What you and your people have done for my family has been exhausting and invaluable for millennia. I certainly understand your readiness to suspect anyone who claims to be the rightful heir to the Yumegakure-ryu.”

  The monk reappeared with trays of fish and rice. He set it down and then left. Eiji gestured. “I’m afraid we don’t indulge in a wide variety of diet here. But we can offer you the freshest fish and rice and vegetables. I’m sure you will be happy with how it is prepared.”

  Annja picked up a set of chopsticks and dived into the rice and fish, carefully plucking bits of meat and vegetables from the tray and chewing them. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she said.

  Eiji grinned. “That is another side effect of the tea you just drank. It makes you rather hungry.”

  Annja looked at him. “What the heck did I just drink—cannabis tea?”

  “Of course not.” Eiji watched her eat. “But it is a potent appetite stimulant. Such a thing is necessary anyway for you to recover.”

  Ken ate, as well, but Annja could see he wasn’t very hungry. “You okay?”

  He nodded. “How many people have come here pretending to be the rightful heir to my family’s name?” he asked Eiji.

  The monk sipped his tea. “Probably twenty since I’ve been here.”

  “That many?” Ken shook his head. “I never realized it would attract so many people.”

  “The lure of power is extremely strong,” Eiji said. “The promise of wealth and fame is sometimes too much for someone to handle and they retreat to the lesser realms of deceit and greed.”

  “When did you get here?” Annja asked.

  “A long time ago,” Eiji said. “I came from Nepal.”

  “Nepal?”

  Eiji nodded. “We are not without our own support systems. There are other monasteries like us scattered around the globe. In the remotest areas, we find homes and methods for preserving our particular traditions.”

  “What are those traditions?” Annja asked.

  “We are warrior monks,” Eiji said. “We do not follow the same path as so many of our supposed brethren. We eat meat, and we practice martial arts. That alone makes us unique.”

  “And here in Japan, are you the only monastery?” she asked.

  “North in Hokkaido there is another. Again, built within the mountains where we have access to fresh water and clean air. The monastery in Nepal is built near Everest. My brother Siben is the head monk there.”

  “It’s fascinating,” Annja said, “to think that there are still secret societies like this alive and functioning.”

  Eiji shrugged. “We make no attempts to influence the world. We are charged with merely preserving our own traditions.” He glanced at Ken. “And sometimes, we are tasked with other things, like the protection of precious relics.”

  “How did that happen?” Annja asked.

  “We weren’t always isolated and remote like this. Far back in history, we were one of the oldest sects operating in Japan and elsewhere. Leaders looked to us for wisdom and guidance. But as Japan and other places fell apart through domestic and civil unrest, their reliance on us shifted to reliance on might and greed. We recognized what was coming and decided the best way to preserve our own destiny would be to simply disappear into the annals of history.”

  “And you’ve been here ever since?” Annja asked.

  “Not here, per se. There have been other monasteries. But warlords and various other factions destroyed those. We retreated higher and higher and into more remote areas, until we at last found places that could protect us as much as we protected the places.”

  “You protect the places, too?”

  Eiji’s eyes twinkled. “The legend of the kappa swamp vampire is one of our finest. The howls you heard outside—they did a good job, did they not?”

  Annja laughed. “Definitely.”

  “We are guardians of the land. This place is vital to our survival, and nowadays we are vital for its survival, as well.”

  Ken looked up. “What happened to all the people who claimed to be me?”

  Eiji shrugged. “They died, of course.”

  “You killed them?” Annja asked.

  Eiji laughed. “Of course not. We didn’t have to kill them. We simply showed them how to get the vajra. Their greed and deceit took care of the rest.”

  “How so?” Ken asked.

  Eiji leaned forward and patted his leg. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  33

  Nezuma gritted his teeth and pulled himself farther up the rope as the waterfall crashed down on his shoulders. At the very top, he saw Shuko’s hand reach for him and he grabbed it, finally hauling himself over the ledge and into the cave entrance.

  “That was a challenge,” he said around gulps of breath.

  Shuko nodded. “It was probably the most difficult climb I’ve ever undertaken. I wasn’t sure I could do it. But at least we’re here now.”

  The cave they sat in was about four feet high, impossible to stand in, but easy enough to traverse by crawling. The rock walls seemed smooth. Nezuma ran his hand along the cool stone and shook his head. “Do you really think this is the way in?”

  Shuko shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to explore farther in. My goal was to get here, find an anchor for the rope a
nd then get you up here.”

  Nezuma watched her open the dry bag and check the weapons. She nodded and then handed Nezuma his UMP while she fixed the strap on the G-36. “They’re fine. No trace of water damage at all.”

  Nezuma accepted the gun from her and smiled. “Excellent.”

  Shuko crawled forward a distance. “Seems okay. But you never know—No!” She screamed and Nezuma heard the sound of something zipping by his head. He ducked as blades shot past his head.

  Shuko moaned from farther up. Nezuma eased himself forward as fast as he felt he was able to. The presence of what could only be booby traps frightened him.

  Shuko lay on her side, gasping through her mouth. The sound of her breathing was high-pitched and rattled. Nezuma scrambled over her.

  “What happened?”

  She pointed. “Blade…it caught me in the top of my chest.”

  Nezuma looked at the injury. If she’d ducked her head, it might have caught her directly in the face, but since she was looking up, it had sliced into her chest and embedded itself into her lung.

  Already, her breathing rasped and sputtered. Pinkish red foam bubbled out of her mouth. Shuko gripped Nezuma’s hands.

  “I’m sorry, master.”

  Nezuma frowned. “No more master.”

  “I love you,” she gasped.

  He gritted his teeth. “I know.”

  Her eyes pleaded with him. He knew what she wanted him to say, but he just couldn’t say it. He’d never honestly loved her. He had cared for her. But love? No. And saying it now just because she wanted to hear it was unnecessary.

  She sucked breath in. The bleeding would kill her soon enough, Nezuma decided.

  “I…know…you…would have…killed me…anyway,” she whispered.

  He was startled. “What?”

  “When you found it. You would have killed me.”

  He frowned. He thought he’d managed to conceal his intentions, but somehow she’d known.

  “Do it.”

  He shook his head. “No. There’s no need.”

  “You would have anyway. Don’t let me die like this.” Shuko gripped his hand hard.

  “If you aren’t man enough to love me, then at least be man enough to kill me.”